Page 22 of ’Til You Break

Actually, that’s not entirely true.

I haven’t really spoken to him since the night my own mother was killed. I wonder about how he might have changed things by being present. Maybe the outcome would’ve been the same if he’d been home. If he’d spent more time with his family, she might still be alive.

Maybe not. Maybe they’d both be dead.

Then I’d be avenging two people instead of one.

I put his failures as a father aside. I don’t really care what Hannah’s mother might say either. It’s not high on my list of priorities. There’s very little chance anyone will hear about what we’re doing from me.

That means Hannah would have to tell them. Something tells me she’ll carry this secret to her grave.

The rookie boxer edges closer. He hasn’t thrown another punch since I slipped his last one. He is understandably wary of how quickly I move. Most people see my size and expect brute strength. They never expect speed.

“Hey, dickhead,” Duke yells.

He only calls me that when I’ve really pissed him off.

“Your phone’s ringing. Better wrap this up if you want to answer it.”

I’d laugh if I didn’t have two hundred and forty pounds of muscle charging straight at me.

He throws another punch.

This time I slip underneath it and fire a cross of my own. It lands flush on his chin. To my surprise, he stays upright for a second, staring at me as though I’d barely touched him.

I count to three. If he’s still standing by then, I’ll finish the job.

On three, his legs give way and he crumples like a sack of potatoes.

I’ll give him credit. He’s the first man who’s ever stayed on his feet after taking that punch.

“Was that so fucking hard?” Duke shouts, spraying spittle with every word.

I ignore him and retrieve my phone from the wire-mesh wall.

“Vik speaking.”

“Frank Coleman.”

It isn’t Frank Coleman on the other end of the line. I actually have no idea who Frank really is. He’s a shadow, both in the field and in business. In all the years I’ve used his services, I’ve always respected his anonymity and never asked any questions.

“Fifty-six years old,” Shadow continues. “Linked to a network of insurance fraud scams. Not a major player, but he has influence in that world.”

“Do you think he’s one of them?”

“No. Frank isn’t the boots-on-the-ground type. He hires other people to do his dirty work.”

There’s a brief pause, then a smoker’s cough.

“He pays thieves to collect high-value targets.”

His answer displeases me. There’s always another hurdle and never any real progress.

“How are they linked?” I keep the question vague for the benefit of the other MMA students who have entered the ring to help their friend to his feet.

“Frank likes to give shit away. Secret messages disguised as high-value items,” Shadow says.

This is why I like using Shadow. In forty-eight hours, he’s uncovered more information about my target than I could have found in years.